


Bitter Tea

by Poshii



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fever, Gen, Hallucinations, Injury, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre Canon, Sick Character, Sickfic, Touch-Starved Caleb Widogast, Traumatized Caleb Widogast, Trust Issues, basically caleb is injured escaping jail and Caduceus finds and helps him, before canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:51:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poshii/pseuds/Poshii
Summary: It's pretty Ironic to be saved by someone who buries the dead for a living.((a story that takes place before the events of season 2. Caleb is in a tight spot and Caduceus is here to make tea and help.))((On Hiatus))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *IF YOU LIKE MY STORY PLS LEAVE A COMMENT!!! They're such a huge motivator for me and I love reading your thoughts (even if they're critical ;u;)*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but love and respect for MY beta reader army-of-bee-assassins! Thank you so much for editing my work <333
> 
> Find them @ army-of-bee-assassins on tumblr!!

The sensation of something hard and sharp plunging into the sole of Caleb’s foot is what brings him out of it.

He wasn’t present enough in his body to halt the loud squeak of pain or the trajectory of his foot, which slammed into his other heel and sent him flying forwards down the side of the gravel path.  
Caleb rolls sideways, trying to get a grip on the ground underneath him to no avail. When he finally reaches the bottom, the cracked mud provides little cushion to his knees. They slam hard against the ground, and Caleb feels something twist and something else crack so loud the inside of his ears pop, and someone screams.

It’s guttural and horrible and so damn loud it’s like his head is splitting in half. He curses, and the scream cuts off-

Because, he realizes, he was the one screaming.

Caleb laughs then, a sharp, short sound that's almost worse than the yell. ‘The laugh of a mad man’, he humors as he tries to catch his breath and gain a semblance of his bearings.  
His chest feels like it’s on fire, breath cold and ragged in his lungs like he’d been running for a long, long time. His teeth chatter and his muscles ache. There’s thick copper on his tongue, and he spits halfheartedly onto the ground to try and rid the taste.

Caleb realizes suddenly that his eyes are squeezed shut, so he tries to open them and take in his surroundings. He’s rewarded with a twist of pain in his temple and black spots that swirl his vision so violently he can’t tell which direction is up. He gives up, closing them again.  
He wishes he could pull his legs up to his chest and curl tightly around himself to provide some kind of warmth, but that’s simply not an option.

He can tell from the sharp throbbing that he’s either broken or sprained his foot so bad he wouldn’t be able to put pressure on it, much less move it. He can distantly feel the sensation of warm blood curling out of the fresh wound and wrapping down his leg all the way to the inside of his boot.

He swallows thickly and forces himself to breathe through his nose.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

And then he releases it through his mouth to contain his growing nausea at the sharp sensation. When his vision clears enough for him to stop the breathing exercise, his body feels limp.

Everything just hurts…and Caleb hates pain.

His mind - which usually races - feels sluggish, like he’s mentally trudging through a bowl of thick syrup. Caleb is quite plainly exhausted, and he can’t do anything other than lay there and feel the mud slowly making its way through the fabric of his clothes to his skin.

***

He must have passed out, because suddenly he’s waking up. Thoughts come to him slowly, as if the mud had seeped all the way into his brain.

Rain comes down in sheets, and he’s soaked through by the time he’s finally able to collect himself. The thick jacket he's wearing does nothing to keep the wet or the cold out. And it is excruciatingly cold.

He can't remember a time he’d felt so frozen in his life. It transcends discomfort, and wraps his whole body in this thick feeling. It makes it impossible to focus on anything else but the ice in his blood. He tries to get some kind of warmth back into him by rubbing his shaking hands up and down his arms, but he can’t seem to move them fast enough to do anything but make his shoulders ache.

Distantly, he knows he should try and get up. If he stays down here, well…he really shouldn’t stay down here. Caleb attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, but his arms feel like useless strings of noodles, weak and weighed down by his sleeves. Through gritted teeth and embarrassing whimpers he manages to push himself up so he can lean against the side of the ditch behind him, and collapse against it.

It’s disconcerting how much energy the small movement has taken away from him, and it dawns on him that he can't actually remember the last time he'd eaten anything. He has to take a break to collect his breath, which stings like knives in his lungs from the crisp air.

At least you’re not shaking anymore, his mind supplies.

Caleb recalls an old passage in a book about hypothermia. The body produces heat when it’s too cold by shivering. Feeling this frozen and not having so much of a tremble to his movement means he’s approaching - well, death, to put it lightly.

“Ah,” he mumbles.

It dawns on him then, that he’s going to legitimately die here, in a ditch by himself under cakes of mud. He wonders if anyone would ever find his body and realizes that, because of him, there would be no one left alive to care if someone did.

Caleb laughs with no humor at all, tears squeezing through tightly shut eyes and mixing with rainwater seamlessly. He coughs over the taste of blood in his mouth. What an irony it would be to freeze to death. Maybe it would befitting too, he muses, glancing up at the thick canopy of trees above him.

Someone who’d caused so much pain and suffering in the world through the horrible curse of fire, to finally be snuffed out by a cold rain. Yes, he decides. That would indeed be very fitting for someone like him.

His parents wanted so much more for him, and somewhere deep, deep down he thought that maybe he’d be able to still give them that dream, even after everything else. But now that he is here, truly living his last moments, he thinks about how much of an idiot he’s been.

He's stark raving mad and beyond all forms of redemption. What he’s done is too horrible, and all those years he’s wasted too long and too meaningful.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, hoping he can see his parents once more tosay that to their faces, before being cast down into the lowest levels of whatever hell awaits his soul.

Caleb closes his eyes, and he can feel the world respond by edging away from the corners of his consciousness, turning dark and pulling him into nothing.

And he welcomes it.

***

Everything is so, so hot. Caleb can feel sweat tracking down his neck and sinking into the sheets underneath him. He’s probably soaked the bed he’s laying on…Do the cells have beds these days? Caleb can’t remember being given one, just a blanket to place on the straw floor.

He’s not comfortable, per se. Who could be while laying in a pool of their own sweat? But he is on a surface far softer than what he’s used to. Distantly, he realizes that there’s a thin sheet on top of him as well, and something warm and wet against his forehead. A rag, maybe? It’s some kind of fabric at least.

He tries to pry his eyes open but they feel so heavy, and the task is truly impossible.

He doesn’t think he can go back to sleep when he’s this hot, and this wet - ah…maybe he was sick? That would explain the throbbing pain in his joints, stomach and head. He always did get bad muscle cramps with the flu.

Had the guards cared enough to move him? Maybe they simply needed to keep him from dying for some financial reason. He didn’t know and didn’t really care either considering he got to lay on something other than a pile of straw.

He hopes that sweet little goblin girl hadn’t caught what he had, but, if she did, was she around? Caleb tries once again to open his eyes and succeeds this time. They’re blurry from unshed tears that were surely forced out by his fever.

He looks around the room, but he can’t see much of anything - let alone the girl - with the lights all off like this. The walls are brown, the floor is brown, there’s a small fireplace to one end -unlit, thankfully- and bottles of liquor? Maybe? Was he in an alcohol cupboard? Probably not; that would be a very strange place to stick sick people.

His mind wanders further into the odd thought until a figure begins to approach out of the shadows.

Caleb pinches his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, and he feels absolutely childish. Hopefully the nurse - or guard…nurseguard?...won’t notice.

A large hand comes down and presses softly against Caleb’s cheek. Normally a touch like that from a stranger would have him halfway across the room, but he just doesn’t have the energy to flinch properly.

The guard makes a tsk-ing sound with his mouth. “Ah…Humans are not normally so humid now, are they?”

Caleb fights the urge to pinch his brows together. What an odd thing to say.

He listens as the figure shuffles across the room, clinking bottles together as he scavenges around for…something. Maybe a full bottle?

“Hm, yes I think this will do quite nicely.”

The warm rag on Caleb’s head is lifted away and replaced with a much, much colder one. The guard lays it over his eyes, and Caleb can’t help but make a soft hum. It instantly soothes the corners of his headache.

“There we are,” says the guard.

There we are, indeed, he thinks, drifting away from the room.

***  
Caleb loves his mother.

She’s a woman with strong soft arms and fiery red hair. “Like yours, mein Junge,” she’d tease playfully

Sometimes Caleb would play with the barn cat while she tilled the fields, even though the cat was a hunter and wasn’t supposed to be treated as a pet. His mother never cared, unlike some of the other mothers Caleb knew.

They’d work and play until his father returned from trading in town.

Caleb loves his father.

He was a tall portly man with a thick beard and freckles across all visible skin. He smelled like bread and flowers. His voice was loud and warm, with a grit of someone who talked often.  
He brought home books sometimes, mostly fiction, but also those Caleb requested. Stories of powerful wizards, and old magic. He didn’t understand most of what it meant but he loved to read them anyway.

Sometimes his father even let Caleb come with him into town, despite how he’d stray away from their work or talk too much about things in his books that neither he or his parents could fully understand.

The three of them always ate dinner at the end of the day, usually a small piece of bread with a half bowl of stew. Caleb oftentimes would be so tired from the day that he’d lay on his arms against the table.

His father would echo fond stories of the townspeople and play with his hair, and eventually his mother would cut him off gently and carry Caleb into his room, tuck him in tight under the covers. His father’s silhouette lined the doorframe as his mother leaned over the bed to hug him.

Where was his hug now?

Caleb loved his parents.

Where…

His eyelids are closed. He’s close to sleep, but he can see a red light flickering beyond them. He smells the chars of burning wood and burning cloth and burning flesh.

He opens his eyes and sees fire. It roars loudly, like a lion in the crisp night air.

Caleb has to get in there, he has to save them, he can still save them. He attempts to lurch forwards, to run, but strong hands hold him back.

Astrid wraps long sharp fingers around his wrists, keeping him tightly in place. He can feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“Whoa hold on - ” she says - and it’s soft, so soft compared to the way his own screams sound.

“No - no!” he begs, and he fights. She’s so much stronger than him. “Please, Astrid - don’t!”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright - ” Astrid coos, as flames begin to lick at her feet. “You’re safe - uh - please calm down.”

What a ridiculous thing to ask of him. To be calm? He hadn’t felt even a sliver of calm in years. So many wasted years in that cell, mind blank.

Sometimes he wishes the clouds would return, but there’s nothing here except clouds of smoke.  
The heat is slowly becoming unbearable as it crawls it’s way up her legs like a demon, engulfing the robes they share, singeing the tips of her long braided hair.

“Get off me!” he pleads, voice cracking. His skin is so hot, his throat is full of ashes.  
The flames reach her face, and Caleb is brought to a revelation that catches the breath in his throat as the illusion is dispelled and Trent stands there, smiling back at him. Caleb did exactly what he was supposed to, just like always.

“No,” Caleb moans. “No!”

The flames reach Trent’s neck, his jawline, his mouth and begin to melt the flesh around Trent’s crooked grin. “It’s going to be okay,” he says calmly, dangerously. Fire rolls down his sleeves. The heat is getting closer. “Just breathe now.”

Caleb attempts to kick him away but as he brings his leg back it explodes with pain and something pops in his knee.

He cries out, a horrible cracked scream that he doesn’t even try holding back.

Trent vanishes before him and the flames blow out as if they were from a birthday candle.  
Caleb sits quietly in the dark for a long long time.

***

“Come on now, up you go.” Someone pulls him forwards and presses Caleb’s head into their chest. He feels the nimble hands reaching around his back and slowly inching his shirt up and over his head.

Caleb feels out of his body, disconnected from reality, floating. It’s a common feeling for him now. He’s there in his body, but away at the same time. Like he’s looking down on it from above and can’t form any truly significant thoughts.

There is no time where Caleb lives now.

This is the most alert he’s felt in forever. The orderly peels his shirt off; it’s soaking wet and he wonders distantly if he’d had another nightmare. Hopefully it was just sweat this time. They were always angrier when he came to baths covered in piss or vomit.

A brush is pressed into his skin and it feels amazing. It’s not even cold or made from frayed wire like it usually is. This orderly is oddly gentle as well, and much bigger than the usual one he gets assigned to.

It’s almost comforting to be held up by such a large person. They slowly adjust him, so that he’s leaning back against them. They begin to scrub the grime from his chest.

“Mmm,” he hums. He knows they like to do it quickly with him since he often throws such a fit about baths, but this time he doesn’t care to. Perhaps that’s why all the movements are so delicate and the water isn’t so frigid. Maybe he’s being rewarded.

Someone - the person is humming in the back of their throat. It’s a song he’s never heard but recognizes as a lullaby.

Eventually the orderly finishes, and for once Caleb feels sad about it.

“There we go, nice and clean,” they say, before laying Caleb down onto his side. A soft pillow meets his head.

Someone slips a big shirt over him and then runs their fingers through his wet hair. “I hope you don’t have more nightmares…” the orderly says.

Caleb agrees and hopes the sentiment is enough to keep the fires away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s just so much fucking green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY!! quick warning Caleb has a bit of a panic attack in this chapter so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing it might be best to skip out! <3 Otherwise enjoy ;u;

It didn’t take long for Red to fall asleep again. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, and for once his face is relaxed. Mouth parted just slightly open, as little puffs of steam roll out of it and disappear in the freezing air.

Caduceus frowns. In a situation like this, he would have heated a pot of tea and stoked the fireplace as much as possible.

It sounds criminally good right now, as it always does in the cold rain, but it was also simply out of the question. He knows very little about the human currently occupying his bed other than one small fact: he hates fire.

He learned late the night before when no more than five minutes after starting the fire to warm the place up, the human rose, for the first time by himself, screaming and trying to force himself as far into the corner of the wall as possible. He fought with more strength anyone as hurt and sickly as he was should have until he finally passed out again.

Caduceus shakes his head, pulling his cloak tighter, hoping that once the human became more lucid and spoke words other than “no” and “Astrid” he could ask about it. He doesn’t know much about humans, but they seem to be a delicate thing. Too much heat or cold could be deadly to them, and unfortunately Red was having to deal with both at the same time. Caduceus moves his hand from Red’s hair - how he’d decided on the little nickname - and feels his face once more.

The fever is finally beginning to lower, but still unmistakably there, boiling underneath ghostly pale stretches of skin.

And “ghost” really is the right adjective for him.

Somehow Red had managed to slip from the clearly laid gravel path and slide down the steep hill. Caduceus had simply followed the slick of mud that deviated from the trail to get to him. The human had been absolutely folded in on himself, just a small mound of person laying on the ground, huddled together as if trying to escape even the tiny individual drops of rain. Dirt that covered his clothes and skin mixed with blood from a leg bent at an odd angle.

Caduceus thought he was dead.

So he sighed, said a quick prayer and reached down to help dissolve the body. His hand stopped just short of the human’s shoulder when he heard the hint of a whimper. Red was breathing. It was so faint he could barely tell, until he put his hand over the human’s mouth and waited to feel the warm breath for himself.

After that, Caduceus had simply brought Red, who remained unconscious, into his arms and hiked the short trail to his home. If the worst came to pass, there were still plenty of available graves by the temple. But the human survived the hike.

Caduceus was surprised to find just how pliable he was when it came to washing and healing him. It did help that he was unconscious, to a point.

His fever had spiked at some point and the man had woken, completely out of it and clearly fighting old demons. Since settling, he’d done nothing but sleep and occasionally throw off the sheet or rag Caduceus supplied him with.

As for now, he wasn’t in any immediate threat of dying, but he still looks like a corpse, in some ways worse than before the mud was scraped from his skin.

One of Red’s most noticeable features is how rail thin he is. Caduceus could count all of his ribs and every joint in his fingers. His cheeks are dangerously gaunt, especially in the dim light that casts harsh shadows over the bones in his face. The pale skin is littered with freckles that contrast starkly against it.

Caduceus hasn’t even tried to find pants that would fit the man because he knows that is impossible given their size difference. Luckily, he doesn’t need to, since the shirt he lends looks more like a nightgown and does more than enough to let the human keep his modesty. He also does not dare touch the man's undergarments.

His bright red hair hangs down too long to be practical and too short to be stylish, with more than a few knots sprinkled throughout. Caduceus wonders if his hair is that color naturally; he’d never seen a human with such red hair, but to be fair he hadn’t seen many humans at all.  
Suddenly, Red makes a sound in the back of his throat, not quite a whimper but in the same family. His eyebrows pinch together and his lips quirk into a tight frown, and for a moment Caduceus thinks he may wake again. The human clearly needs sleep, so he runs his hands through his hair, shushing him softly.

His features relax and he lets out a soft sigh in his sleep. Caduceus moves some strands of hair from his face and delicately puts them behind one of Red’s ears.

Caduceus thinks it would be really beautiful if it weren’t so tangled. He should try to get the knots out.

“There’s a brush around here somewhere.”

***

A while later, Caduceus has successfully managed to get every knot out of Red’s hair. He pulls it back, so that it lays across the back end of the pillow Red’s head rests on. There are still remnants of mud in it, and the texture is wiry and frayed at the ends. It’s still lovely, though, dirt and all.

It isn't just his hair, either. He’s clearly a good looking man underneath all the grime and malnourishment, and Caduceus wonders how he would look with a little healthy meat on his bones, and a smile on his face. It’s a hard thing to imagine.

Now that the task is complete, Caduceus finds himself thinking about his tea again. He casts a longing glance over at the fireplace. Perhaps he can make a small fire in the room over to brew a cup.

Red seems deeply asleep now. Caduceus decides it’s worth the risk.

***

The first thing Caleb registers is the painful twist in his stomach and the familiar band of tension building in his chest.

The second thing Caleb notices is the green.

There’s just so much fucking green.

It’s absolutely everywhere. It’s on the walls in thick swirling vines, it’s on the floor in the patterns of old rugs, and it’s draped across the ceiling in colorful beads and and flora. There are other colors as well, but none of them are as prominent as green.

He’s even wearing a soft, oversized green shirt, one that he surely does not own.  
And it’s not just the colors. There are bottles filled with dirt and green liquid lining natural clay shelves. It even permeates the air; the whole place smells of trees and dirt, and it’s almost overpowering just how much the little place he’s in reeks of nature. Even more so than being out in the actual woods.

The woods.

Everything rushes back so fast it makes Caleb’s head spin. Where - where the fuck was he? He very, very clearly wasn’t dead, so...?

He tips his head to the side to take better stock of the place. There’s a small brick fireplace, unlit despite the cold. It’s carved into the side of one of the walls where a large cooking pot rests. There’s a table with soft-looking chairs and a beautiful tea set on full display.

He can see a slight steam rolling off of it, fresh.

Caleb tries to swallow, but his mouth is impossibly dry. He can feel a slight fever burning on his eyelids, and he begins to realize that he has no idea how he’d ended up here, or who had drunken half their tea and left.

The last thing he remembers is bleeding out in a ditch, and then flashes of things that don’t make sense - nightmares probably - his mind supplies.

Sitting up slowly, he props himself back against the headboard. A rag falls from his forehead, landing in his lap. Caleb stares at it for a few moments, before carefully picking it up and putting it to his nose to smell. It doesn’t seem to be poison - most likely just water - so he presses it firmly into his left eye. The one that aches a little worse.

His breathing has become more jagged and difficult since he woke, and he tries now to bring it back down to a normal pace - but it’s hard. Frustrated, he gives up and accepts the oncoming panic attack. He could deal with it once he got out of this place.

And he needs to go now, before whoever took him comes back and finds him awake.  
His leg - he can feel it throbbing dimly underneath the thin sheet that’s on top of him. The last time he’d been conscious it was broken, and if that was still the case, Caleb wouldn’t be going anywhere fast. He swallows thickly, hardens his stomach and throws the sheets aside as if ripping off a bandage.

His legs are fucking covered in moss.

The sight is so unexpected that Caleb barks a short hysterical sound. More green, of course. It’s hard to tell how bad they actually are underneath the moss; he needs to test them out. Tentatively, he raises one and tilts it to the side, then does the same to the other.

They hurt, yes, but he can move them. He could probably even walk on them. He could leave. Caleb pushes himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and he carefully rises, slowly putting pressure on his bad leg.

It hurts, and he’ll most likely be limping all the way to the nearest town, but it works well enough. 

He takes a step and then another, and he realizes there’s a bigger problem.

He is dangerously light-headed. The room tilts out of focus for a brief second and he stumbles, tripping over useless feet and slamming hard into the wall next to him. The sound it makes would be bad enough, but there’s a haphazardly placed shelf nearby as well. It rattles dramatically with the various glass items that line it and Caleb watches in horror as one of the many bottles tips forward and falls. He's unable to do anything as it smashes into the ground and shatters.

Caleb’s ears ring as he fights black spots in his vision, realizing that he’d just destroyed any chances of a discreetescape. He uses the wall as a kick-off point and pushes himself forwards towards the door.

He slams his shoulder into it with no grace and fights the doorknob with shaking fingers, eventually getting a grip on the thing and throwing it open. Cold air meets his face and sleet comes down in sheets as he stumbles from the small hut. He almost makes it past the entryway before a large hand grips his forearm and halts him in his tracks.

“Whoa, hold on,” the hand says.

He jerks instinctively, trying hard to get away, but it’s clear he’s weak and whoever was holding him is clearly not, keeping him in place easily. The contact makes his skin crawl.

“Let me GO!” he rasps, not daring to glance behind him and lose his nerve. And yeah, wow, his voice sounds fucking terrible, rubbed raw and breathy.

He expects a lot of things to happen next, a lot of really horrible things. His mind races with the possibilities of what kind of pain and creative torture could be inflicted on him for shouting and fighting to get away.

What he doesn’t expect is for the grip to loosen on his arm and the man to let go altogether.  
Caleb falls forwards and lands hard on his knees, causing a lighting bolt of pain to zig-zag up his bad leg. He gasps, bending forwards and hugging it to quell the feeling. He chokes on his own breath, involuntary tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes, because he can’t breathe, goddammit.

“Oh dear - ” the man says behind him.

Caleb stays there for a moment, staring down at the ground in front of him in complete shock. He sputters and chokes, willing his chest to fill with air, eyes wide, hair falling over his eyes, shaking like a sad dog.

“Here let me help - ”

A hand touches his back and Caleb recoils, pulling himself closer to the floor.

“NO!” The hand retreats at his words. “D-Don’t touch me,” Caleb growls through painful breaths - cursing internally because his voice betrays him and he sounds anything but intimidating with his childish stuttering.

Once again, he expects a lot of things. Except the man makes a sound of agreement after a short, silent pause. “Alright - I won’t touch you,” he states. Very convincingly, at that. And then he just goes silent and lets Caleb ride out the rest of his attack. The moment his breathing is even enough and the fire in his chest calms to a light ache, he peeks over his shoulder wearily.  
The man is not what he’s expecting his captor to look like. For one, his hair is pink. It’s half shaved, with long, flowy locks falling down the other side of his face. His skin is gray with a slight raise of fuzz. His ears are long, his eyes are purple and his robes are green.

More green.

And he doesn’t seem mad that Caleb is currently a ball on the floor. In fact when he meets   
Caleb's eyes there's a hint of a smile on the man's cheekbones.

Caleb would throw up if there were anything in his stomach.

The man is enormous. His hands hang loosely at his side and are easily the size of the human’s entire head. Caleb could only imagine how hard his swing is.

The man shifts his weight to the other foot. “Are you alright?”

Caleb ignores the question. “I’m leaving now,” he states instead, but makes no move to actually get up.

The man’s eyebrows jump closer to his hairline. “So soon? I’m afraid your legs may not be fully healed, and your fever has just started to break.”

Caleb stares.

“Not to mention you still haven’t had any tea.”

Caleb keeps staring.

“It’s very good,” he says, putting his hand over his heart. “I make it myself - ”

Caleb's head spins. He’s at a loss of words, not sure what his next move should be. His hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking. His bad leg aches under his weight, and his other feels like jelly Even if he did try to run, he wouldn't be able to get anywhere. This man would catch him, no problem.

“Who are you?” he rasps, clenching his hand around his body tighter to keep it steady. It doesn’t work.

“I’m Caduceus,” the man says simply. “Caduceus Clay.” Caleb waits but Caduceus doesn’t elaborate. He’s a bit thrown off that he’d answered at all.  
“Where am I?”

Caduceus chews on the inside of his cheek. “Ah, so you don’t remember.”

Caleb tries to think back at this, but he can’t remember anything but laying in the cold ditch, dying. His brain still wasn’t used to processing so much information at once. He’d been out of the asylum for less than a week, after all. He used to be so good, so exact with time. Would that come back to him? Would anything?

“ - I’m sorry, there’s no need to get upset again,” Caduceus interrupts his spiral. “I can explain if you can’t remember.” Caduceus gives an awkward smile. “I’m quite out of practice explaining much of anything. I don’t see many visitors these days - ” He shakes his head. “Besides the point.”

Caleb swallows thickly and ends up coughing when there’s no spit in his mouth to swallow. He is just too tired to deal with this.

“Maybe you should get back into bed first.”

Caleb stubbornly presses his forehead against the ground, hugging himself tighter.

There’s a tense pause in the air, and then he hears the man behind him shuffling.

“The floor is fine too,” he says, from further inside the hut. Before Caleb can really register much of anything, he feels something fall over him. He flinches tightly in on himself.

But it’s just a thin blanket. Only then does he realizes how cold he is.

Caduceus explains.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *IF YOU LIKE MY STORY PLS LEAVE A COMMENT!!! They're such a huge motivator for me and I love reading your thoughts*
> 
> Nothing but love and respect for MY beta reader army-of-bee-assassins! Thank you so much for editing my work <333
> 
> Find them @ army-of-bee-assassins on tumblr!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can't let the tea go to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another panic attack in this one ya'll, unfortunately Caleb's still in a very bad way and he will be for a hot second. ))
> 
> ALSO HI It's almost been 2 months and I apologize for that life things have been happening and I've been trying to settle into a new job <3 I hope you've all been well Im hoping to get the next chapter up within a week or two !!!))

CHAPTER 3

Caduceus recounts the story to the pile of human on the floor. His shoulders hold so much tension that Caduceus worries he might snap at some point, with bones as brittle as his are, but he stays, pulled taut like a rubber band about to break.

 

He finishes explaining everything from his point of view and still the human stays there, silently, shaking just slightly under the thin blanket the firbolg draped over him. Caduceus watches, a little lost for what to do next, when he suddenly remembers something - his tea!

 

“Ah,” Caduceus says, earning a sharp flinch from the man. “I left my tea in the other room and it’s simply not as good when it’s cold... “ He trails off.

 

A blue eye peers back at him, pinched confusion obvious in its expression.

 

Caduceus rubs the back of his neck. “I could make you some as well, if you’d like?” he tests. “Do you prefer a type?”

 

The eyes disappear as the man turns his head once again and presses his forehead into the ground. For a moment, Caduceus thinks it would be left at that, but after a few moments the man speaks up. “Anything’s fine,” he rasps. “C-Could I…” His voice trails off, the unfinished sentence dangling in the air.

 

“Hm?” Caduceus probes.

 

The man sighs deeply and lifts his head off of the dirt floor. Mud has caked its way across his forehead, and probably his knees and Caduceus’ shirt as well.

 

“Could I watch you make it?”

 

It’s a bit of an odd question, but Caduceus has no qualms with the idea. He’s just glad that the man isn’t rejecting the idea altogether, knowing full well that the task involves fire. He’s hoping that the drastic reaction had been due to his fevered state, and he prayed this is the indicator that the assumption is a correct one.

 

“I don’t see why not,” he says. “Do you need help - ”

 

“No!” the man says a little too fast and a little too loud. “No…I can - no.”

 

“Alright then, I’ll be in the other room,” Caduceus says, strolling through the beaded curtains and then stopping a bit short. “Ah, that’s right, I forgot to ask your name,” he says, feeling a bit rude to have forgotten.

 

The man has tensed again. “ - Uh…Do you require it?”

 

Caduceus blinks. “Oh no, but I would like to call you something. I was using Red while you were asleep and thought you’d prefer your correct name.”

 

The man scoffs, but it sounds more like a laugh. “Red is fine.”

 

Caduceus smiles at him. “And very fitting, I think.”

 

“...Ja.”

 

Caduceus heads towards the fireplace, letting go of the beaded curtains which swing back into place behind him.

***

 

Caleb hates his lungs. They’re weak and useless and won’t let him suck in more than shallow gasps of air. He forces himself to swallow, and his mouth is dry, his throat painful and raw. He hadn’t used his voice in far too long, and then he’d yelled.

Talking back to superiors is an automatic correction.

 

Caleb lets out a shaky puff of air, pressing his forehead into the dirt once more. No. No. He isn’t about to go back, not now, not when there is a (kind?) stranger and a fire in the room over waiting for him.

 

Caleb winces; the position he’s in put a lot of pressure on his bad leg. His left upper thigh is stinging fiercely under the material of his underwear. The urge to stretch it almost outweighs the urge to stay curled in his pathetic ball on the floor. Almost.

 

He can feel Trent’s eyes on the back of his head as he towers over him, judges him.  
Caleb forces himself to let out one long shaky breath. Trent is not here, and he’ll get up anyways, he will…but first to build a little more willpower.

 

***

Caduceus gently picks up his broken cup by the edges. Unfortunately, Red had managed to knock down his favorite drinking mug on his hurried way out. The swirling pinks of the flowers are hardly recognizable anymore, but no matter. He still has a good three mugs left, one of which is currently holding the forgotten tea that has long since turned cold.

 

He puts the broken cup into a waste bin - noting to take it out later - and puts the cup with tea still in it back on his small table before he turns towards the fireplace. It takes him a few short tries to light the thing in the damp weather, but eventually he gets there and a small orange fire flickers to life, casting a warm glow over the room and warming Caduceus up almost instantly.

 

He smiles to himself, watching the delicate flame, and holds his hands over it for a moment. Nothing was more homely to him than a pot of tea brewing over a nice warm fireplace, and in the cold weather it was near heaven.

 

He pours water into a teapot and places it on top of the stand that sits above the flames. Then he grabs his cold cup and places it down next to the pot.

 

“No need to waste,” he says to himself.

 

Several more minutes pass and Red has yet to enter the room. Caduceus considers peeking back over, but just as he’s about to get up, a shock of fiery red hair comes peering from around the corner. Caduceus turns his head, to keep both himself busy and any lingering weariness the human may be feeling at bay.

 

He thinks about the gauntness of the man’s cheeks and the brittleness of his bones. Caduceus could see every rib and every backbone. He chews on the side of his lip and decides to fetch something to eat.

 

He has some dried fruits and some nuts and decides that should be good. They were packed with nutrition and easy on the stomach. Caduceus places them on a plate and puts it down on the side table next to the chair he’s not occupying, and then he sits back down to finish brewing their tea.

 

He hears the human slide around the corner and stumble over to the chairs in front of the table, eyeing the fire wearily, and sitting himself down in one of them. He pulls the thin blanket Caduceus had draped over him tightly around his shoulders. It gives the upper half of his frame an unbalanced but very comfy looking bulk.

 

They make eye contact, so Caduceus smiles to him.

 

Red looks away.

 

***

 

He doesn’t see Caduceus put anything in the cup of tea other than the actual tea, which he also pours into his own. So it’s pretty safe to assume it’s not poisoned. He finds it difficult to look directly at fire and tries not to focus too much on the warmth it puts into his skin. He wishes he could enjoy that feeling; it’s much better than the frigid cold he’d grown used to, but - he just can’t.

 

It feels like the heat is just slowly increasing on his skin, which isn’t true - it wasn’t. He’s still shaking under the blanket and has gross, cold sweat running down his body. Caleb swallows against a lump in his throat, closing his eyes and trying to bring his mind away from it once again and even his breathing -

 

“Here you are.”

 

Caleb flinches violently at the sudden voice, eyes darting up behind hooded lids to meet the man’s face. He’d almost forgotten Caduceus was in the room with him. The man is holding out a tray to him, a small brown teacup with a delicate white design placed in the center. His purple eyes are a bit wide, which is understandable given how dramatic Caleb was being.

 

He reaches out with shaky hands. “Uhm…thank you,” he mumbles and Caduceus smiles.

“Of course. Do tell me if it’s too bitter for your liking.” Caduceus holds the other end of the tray until it’s placed safely on the table. A flush of embarrassment fills Caleb’s stomach because, yeah, he’s absolutely too weak to do something as simple as hold a tray up.

 

The man takes his own cup of tea and sits in one of the two chairs in front of him, facing the fire. Caleb watches him drink for several minutes, while Caduceus watches the rain out of a nearby window.

 

He doesn’t say anything else, ask questions, or make Caleb talk or move closer.

 

He can’t tell if it’s comforting or unnerving just how much Caduceus doesn’t seem to care who he is or how he’d gotten in that ditch in the first place. Maybe he’s a legitimately good person who doesn't care that Caleb could be (and is) a despicable person. More likely he has some kind of ulterior motive, where something like that simply doesn’t matter. Caleb wraps his hands around the warm drink and holds it up to his face, taking a deep smell. The distinct coolness of peppermint tickles his nostrils.

 

He takes a cautious sip. The liquid is too hot and it burns Caleb’s tongue a little.

 

And it’s good, it’s amazing. Probably the best tea he’s had in his life. He drinks more and can see Caduceus smiling in his chair from the corner of his eye.

 

Hopefully he’s just proud of it.

***

 

An hour later, Caduceus had left the hut and gone out to “work”, and Caleb hasn’t moved from his spot in the plush chair. The tea cup now sits empty and cold, resting on a wooden coaster along with a plate of crumbs that used to be filled with food. He hadn’t dared touch them until he saw Caduceus eat a few of each.

 

He’s afraid to move, because he wasn’t given permission and Tren -

 

No.

 

Caleb rubs his temples so hard it hurts. He’s shaking and his chest aches. He forces himself to take a few deep breaths, focus back on reality.

 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

 

No. He doesn’t move because he’s afraid Caduceus will come back, yeah. And the far larger man may think him to be snooping around.

To be fair, Caleb is a bit of a snooper. His intensely curious side (and constant paranoia) dictates that, but he wouldn’t dare take his chances now. Not after he was finally somewhere warm. Not after he’d met someone who seemed decent….

 

Caleb knows better than to judge based off of first appearances by this point, though. He can’t deem Caduceus to be anything more than a stranger in the woods until he’s sure of his motivations. If this happens to be a worst case scenario and Caleb has managed to get himself stuck in the middle of nowhere with a man as mad as himself, then…

 

A chill runs through his body, and he wraps the blankets around himself tighter. As if they would protect him.

 

He just can’t let his guard down. No matter how warm he is, how sick or how tired.

 

He clutches the blankets around his chest and listens to the sleet fall outside.

 

After a long, while he feels his eyelids begin to droop.

 

Dark hands wrap around his body, pulling him deep under blood-filled waters.

 

Trent Ikithon blocks the window.

***

 

The front door is in view when Caduceus’ ears perk up because he hears the scream.  
It’s guttural and horrible and unmistakably coming from the human inside, and it sounds so painful that Caduceus first thinks that he’s getting mauled by one of wolves that roam the area.

 

Caduceus runs the rest of the way, dropping the shovel and the armful of firewood at the front door and pushing his way inside to the bedroom. He doesn’t see any feral animals, just the man, hunched over on himself on the floor by the couch.

 

One of his fists is pressed against the floor, the other wrapped tightly around his stomach. His bare knees just barely touch the splattering of bile he’d just thrown up.

 

His breath is so harsh, so desperate, that it sounds like he’s punctured a lung. When Caduceus approaches, his eyes dart up to him, and they look absolutely mad. Scanning his face, but not really seeing anything. Caduceus stands frozen for a moment before coming over and very gently kneeling next to the man, who bends forward, shaking his head and beginning a mantra.

 

“I-I’m so sorry - I’m sorry.”

 

“Shhh, that’s alright,” Caduceus ensures. “My floors are quite easy to clean. They’re just dirt and moss. No harm done, my dear.”

 

Caduceus presses a large paw over his back, rubbing soothing circles into it, the fabric of his oversized shirt bunching and creasing as he does. He pulls Red so that he’s away from the vomit, and presses another hand to his chest to encourage steady breathing.

 

“Come on now, in and out,” he soothes. But the man just keeps repeating himself, his words slurring into each other.

Red shakes his head. “‘M sorry.”

 

Although Caduceus is less than concerned about his flooring, this isn’t very good. The man clearly needs to eat. Judging by the shakiness and that dazed look in his eyes, Caduceus hopes it was just the work of another nasty dream and not because he’s just that malnourished.

 

“Fuck!” Red suddenly curses under his breath, grasping weakly at the dirt floor. His voice cracks. “Fuck! FUCK!”

 

Red makes a gesture as if to push Caduceus away, but he’s weak and ends up slumping into him instead. There’s a heat coming from his brow; the fever has gotten worse once again. Caduceus tilts his head back to get a better look at his face, pushing hair from his face and checking his forehead, wincing in sympathy as he does.

He’s pale as a sheet.

 

It’s as if this boy has a fire brewing under his skin. The man watches him closely, but he seems to be so out of it again that Caduceus legitimately wonders if he knows where he is right now. He’d woken up a few times before and seemed not to, after all.

 

“Red?” he tries, getting the man’s attention. “Tell me what happened, dear.”

 

Red opens his mouth, like he’s going to stay something, but instead a sob rips its way from his lips. He throws a hand over his mouth and doubles over, pressing his forehead into Caduceus’ chest because there’s nowhere else for him to go with the motion.

 

He’s never heard someone cry like that before. So rawly, without any inhibitions. It’s filled with so much grief, so much anguish, that it catches him off guard for a moment. The man sobs and chokes on his breath, heaving air like he’s sucking it through a thin straw. His whole body shakes, covered in a sheen of sweat as he rocks himself back and forth. His hands brush at his mouth, his eyes, his chin in an attempt to stop.

 

Caduceus pulls him tighter, as tears of his own form in his eyes. “You’re safe here.” He adjusts Red so that he’s more in his lap, so that he’s closer. “You can let it all out now, love. You’re doing great.”

 

The two of them ride it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3 and as always comments motivate me more than anything else! I LOVE reading them all and thank you so much for the support thus far it means a lot to me <3
> 
> Nothing but love and respect for MY beta reader army-of-bee-assassins! Thank you so much for editing my work <333
> 
> Find them @ army-of-bee-assassins on tumblr!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But I’m-” (Staying in your house, taking up your bed and puking on your carpet). Caleb felt it was his right by this point to know- like someone in this situation should feel entitled to answers.
> 
> (Oh heck it's been so long! sorry ya'll I have a lot on my plate!!! thank you so much for the support on this story It means a lot and keeps me motivated to keep going! I love writing this and these heckin characters so this will keep being updated (slowly but surely!!!) thanks for the patience!!!)

Caduceus moves his body through the attack rhythmically, slowly rocking himself forwards and then backwards. He wants to provide some semblance of comfort to the human. He also runs his fingers through the man’s hair. Caduceus himself enjoys the action, and he hopes the human feels a similar way.

 

Holding Red so closely reminds Caduceus of how unnervingly malnourished he is. He can feel and count every section of spine through the oversized shirt. His elbows poke the larger man uncomfortably where they’re wrapped around his middle and press into his skin.

 

He really hopes the man hadn’t lost his snack because he simply wasn’t used to food. An amount that little coming back up is…concerning at least and at worst, well, it may read something much worse than a fever and a bad nightmare..

 

Eventually, the sobs taper off to shaky breathing, where the man has his nose pressed closely into the fabric of Caduceus shirt, as if using it like a filter. Not long after he’s done that does the breathing finally even out, and the only indication of his state is the periodic sniffles. 

Caduceus waits for a long time for the man to make the first move, but he simply never does.

 

“Red?” Caduceus prods, patting his neck lightly. His fever still burns steadily underneath a layer of sweat.

“Mmm,” Red slurs back after a long moment. “‘m ‘wake…training...”

 

Caduceus frowns. “Training…” he repeats quietly. “I’m afraid there’s no training for you here.”  
The human’s skin wrinkles around his brow as he makes a face. Several moments go by, and Caduceus thinks that he’d perhaps worked himself up so much he’d finally passed out. He hopes that sleep will do him better than it had the last time and begins to wrap his long arms around the man to lift him upwards. But as he gets around his knobby knees, the man tenses.

“I-I think?” Red swallows, lifting his face. His blue eyes shine with tears and his face is mostly red, tracked in sweat and tears and snot. Caduceus reaches up and wipes the wetness from his cheeks. The human doesn’t even flinch, probably too out of it to even register Caduceus’ gentle hands. Red looks around the room without moving his head. “I - yes. I remember,” he says, as if piecing everything together as he speaks. “Ja, t-that’s right…”

 

It takes a few moments of deep breaths and scanning the room until something in his head seems to suddenly snap into place.

 

“Ah.” He scrambles back out of the larger man’s hold. He looks behind him, and then back at Caduceus, who watches him with nothing more than a simple look of concern. The man’s face contorts for a moment into something close to a smile, but with much more bitterness. Then he puts his face in his hands and rubs spindly palms against his eyes. “I’m - such a mess,” he chokes, voice raspy from yelling.

 

Caduceus nods, not unkindly. “Perhaps a bit, yes,” he agrees.

 

A strand of red hair sticks to the human’s forehead, draping across the bridge of his nose and ending just above his chin. Caduceus resists the temptation to brush it away; Red seems to only accept physical comfort when he isn’t fully present. He rubs a shaking hand across his mouth, closing his eyes tightly and then opening them again a bit too wide as he visibly tries to shake himself back to earth.

 

“I’d blame it on the fever,” Caduceus offers.

 

He searches the room for the shovel he kept indoors and finds it leaning up against one of the walls. He slowly gets to his knees, and when Red realizes he’s moving his whole body tenses.  
“Don’t mind me,” the firbolg tries to assure. “Just some cleaning.”

 

Caduceus takes another cautious movement to his feet before crossing the room to grab the shovel from its handle. Eyes trained on the ground, he searches for the parts of the moss now soaked with bile.

 

The human makes a sound of protest in the back of his throat as he realizes what Caduceus is doing. “Y-you don’t need to do that - really. I could - ”

 

“Ah-ah, none of that,” Caduceus shushes. “You’re sick.” He almost adds, “and probably couldn’t lift the thing” but refrains. “Besides, it’s no trouble. My job gives me plenty of practice.” He tilts his head towards the shovel. “I’m quite good at this.”

 

Red purses his lips and looks away, but he also doesn’t protest again, so Caduceus makes quick work of the task. The dirt is heavy, but it doesn’t take him long to finish clearing it from the floor, replacing the spots with a layer of moss carpeting.

 

“I’ll be back in just a moment,” he lets the human know before picking up the can and heading outside into the frigid weather. He finds a spot far away by a tree to dump the stuff, and after a moment he decides to leave the wooden trash can there as well, grabbing a new one from the shed and regathering the firewood he’d collected earlier.

 

When he gets back a short time later, Red has shifted positions, leaning his head against the cushion of the chair, his shoulders hunched over, shaking. Caduceus places the logs next to a small but growing pile by the fireplace. He grabs a blanket off of the chair and pulls it over the man’s shoulders.

 

Red seems to have gone away, because suddenly he’s stirring, glancing up at Caduceus with hazy eyes.

 

He notices the blanket. “Ah - uhm...“ He looks away. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course.” Caduceus smiles. “Now then, up you go. The floor won’t be good for your back.” He nods his head towards the large bed near the corner of the room.

 

He looks like he wants to protest from under the curtain of red hair, putting the skin of his knuckles to his mouth and gnawing at it.

 

For a moment, Caduceus is afraid he’ll refuse, but instead he heaves a deep sigh and nods into the couch. Caduceus already knows the man prefers to do things for himself, so he just waits for Red to collect himself. The man shifts all his weight to one side slowly before slinging his arm over the nearest cushion and dragging himself up.

 

He uses the wall to get back to bed, clearly struggling to keep himself upright as he staggers. Caduceus hovers not too far away, ready to catch the frail man if he were to fall.

 

He manages to get all the way there before his legs give out from underneath him with a little breath, but he’s able to land on the bed. A few moments go by before he begins to shift himself into a suitable position.

 

Caduceus is about to ask if he’d like another blanket, but then the man shifts his legs further up on the bed, revealing that the hem of his long shirt has gotten caught in the waistband of his underwear.

 

There’s the briefest flash of crimson spotting through the fabric along his thigh as the man adjusts, pulling the fabric down a little too quickly. Caduceus may have missed an injury.

“What is that?” he asks.

 

Red flinches at the sudden voice. His expression is wide and vulnerable as he pushes himself up to a kneel in the center of the bed.

 

“That just there,” Caduceus says, coming closer and gesturing to the area. Red takes an unconscious pace away in tandem with his step forward, his back hitting the wall as he does.  
His face goes even paler than it already is. He looks so lost, and absolutely terrified. Caduceus takes a few steps back and forces himself to calm the tone of his voice.

 

“I assure you I don’t meant to pry, I just wish to help you,” Caduceus asks again. “Is it an injury?”

Red turns his face downwards, avoiding all eye contact. He adjusts, hissing as he does so. “I - n-not quite?” he whispers. His breathing is harsh again. “Ah - ”

 

Red’s gaze is fixed on a patch of moss near the base of the bed.

 

“I’d like to treat it, if that’s the case.”

 

Red swallows thickly. “Fuck - ” He laughs. “You won’t want to once you see it - ” he breathes. The phrase does nothing but raise Caduceus’ curiosity.

 

“Why is that?” He takes a seat at the far end of the bed, as Red closes in further on himself, his eyes stubbornly trained on the ground. He spares a few rushed glances but nothing more.

 

Red presses his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose, scrunching his face together for a brief moment before all the energy seems to sag out of his body - and he resigns to the question. “I-it’s a brand.”

 

Caduceus’ eyebrows jut towards his hairline. “A brand?” he repeats.

 

Red’s face scrunches. He speaks more than he had the last few days, as if he’d completely resigned to the idea that Caduceus was going to kick him out.

 

“Y-es.” He lets out a short burst of air through his nose. “Uh - From the town over - I’m not sure how far I...went away as I hit the forest - It’s a prison brand they give to their - m-more ‘violent’ inmates.” The word seems to taste bitter on his tongue; he basically spits it out.

Caduceus can’timagine the man in front of him doing any sort of “crime”, honestly. He’s far too timid and sickly for him to see the man doing much more than laying in a bed and sleeping. It was almost humorous to imagine him committing an act of violence.

“How old is the wound?” he asks.

 

Red balks at this for a moment. “Uh - ” He takes a long while to get his thoughts in order. “Eight days, I - think.”

 

“And it was never treated properly?”

 

Red actually laughs at this. “No.”

 

Caduceus folds one of his hands over the other. “Would you let me?”

 

Red blinks in utter disbelief. “You still want to?”

 

“Yes,” Caduceus says simply.

 

“B-but I just told you...” His words falter, and he shakes his head. “You s-should have l-left m-me in the rain - far less trouble. For everyone.”

 

Caduceus raises an eyebrow. “Well, surely for the wolves that would be true. They don’t get fed much during the winter months.”

 

Red shivers where he sits curled in a ball. That may not have come out quite right, Caduceus thinks. 

After a moment Red lets out a short burst of air through his nose, “Dinner for some wolves m-might be the o-only use I have.” He says it like a joke but there’s something in there sincere, enough so that Caduceus feels his throat clench. 

“that’s not true, surly there are those who would be worse off without you.” 

Red lets out a short burst of air through his nose. “No - Y-you’re wrong on that one.” He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around his upper body as he does so. “I - am not a good m-man. E-everyone in my life would have been better off without me.” The man is so convinced in this idea. Caduceus doesn’t know him but he can tell- there’s something more to him than a bad man.

Caduceus bites his bottom lip, realizing that this conversation will go nowhere but in circles. 

 

“Well, good, bad, we all get infections the same.” He shrugs.

 

Red looks at him sideways.

 

“If the brand is infected,” Caduceus continues, “which it most likely is, it may be the cause of your fever, and the nightmares. It’s probably wreaking havoc on that stomach of yours.” Red glances down at the now-shoveled spot on the floor and wraps an arm around his middle protectively. He looks like he wants to say something but instead just squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“I’d like to see you healthy, and you’re not going to get there with untreated wounds.”

Red runs shaky hands through his hair, and doesn’t refuse.

 

* * *

 

Caleb has mostly convinced himself that this whole experience is just a culmination of the last fevered thoughts of his dying brain. Of course his dumbass would have the fucking fantasy of some strong woodland man rescuing him and nursing him back to health.

 

The part of himself he hasn’t convinced is just constantly screaming for him to get the hell out of the little woodland cabin before the strong woodland man turns his strength around on Caleb.

 

Honestly, Caleb had mostly forgotten the brand was even there until it had started burning when he’d woken up the last time. Caduceus tells him to lay sideways on the too-long-for-him bed and pulls the side of his underwear down enough for the brand to be in full view.

The brand is barely the size of a gold piece, rounded just the same and carrying the emblem of some town unfamiliar. It’s burned into the man's pale, sheet-thin skin deep enough to make an indent around it. Some edges are split open from the man’s large movements, and the area around the entire wound is an itchy shade of pink. Green and white pus are leaking from the deepest areas. It’s infected, just like Caduceus had said.

 

Caleb thinks he would have been awfully embarrassed about something like this a few years ago - but now, he couldn’t give a shit about who saw what on his body. The asylum ruined all sense of privacy for him, and unfortunately for everyone around him who’d care he just - didn’t have any shame.

 

Caduceus begins by using a rag to wipe away the grossest parts - and fuck does that sting. Caleb tilts his head into the pillow, gripping the edge of it so hard his knuckles turn bone white and his entire body shakes despite how hard he tries to keep it still. Caduceus doesn’t seem to mind, though. 

As he works, he makes these little hums and gives little encouragements that makes Caleb simultaneously want to leave his body and do everything in his power to “earn” more kind phrases.

 

“This is going to burn a bit. I promise I’m not trying to harm you.”

 

Caleb doesn’t really believe him - but he’s so far gone he just doesn’t do anything about it or really care if the larger man is.

 

One thing’s for sure though - he wasn’t lying about the pain. The second the green paste touches the brand, all hell breaks loose on Caleb's freckled thigh. He can feel his skin hiss like a snake as the medicine - or lava - makes its way around the loop and through the infection.

 

Caleb doesn’t scream - to his credit - but he probably makes much stranger and more unflattering sounds than a simple scream.

 

He’s dizzy when the initial pain comes down, focusing on breathing and the texture of the muddy wall and the fact that he’s absolutely not going to let himself puke a second time in the last hour. He feels a hand run through his hair, clearing it off his sweaty forehead, and he closes his eyes against it.

 

“It won’t be much longer now,” Caduceus says. “That was the worst of it. You’re doing well.”  
Caleb makes a half-hearted sound in return.

 

“This next part is actually rather pleasant, I’ve heard,” he says, dipping two large fingers into a jar of green salve - because what other color would it be?

 

Caleb turns his head away to look at the wall again, as the stuff is spread over his thigh. And to Caduceus’ credit, it’s not the worst part. The coolness soothes the ache almost immediately, but the texture of the stuff is so slimy and gross that it sends a chill down Caleb’s spine and makes him wonder who the hell would find the feeling pleasant.

 

Caduceus puts what looks like a piece of parchment over the area, and then lightly clasps his hands together. “All done,” he declares. “We can take that off in the morning and you should be feeling much better.”

 

Caduceus turns away and begins washing the stuff from his hands as Caleb turns over onto his other side and watches him. It’s hard to really keep a firm grasp on his surroundings when his head feels like it’s dead set on cooking his brain, but he manages.

 

He - just can’t get over how little Caduceus seemed to care about his past, even after knowing he was a prisoner - even after dealing with his pathetic mess after a nightmare.

 

He just - he still acted as if he wanted to help - but it just wasn’t sitting right - Caleb couldn’t quite make out the intentions behind it all and it was fucking unnerving.

 

“Aren’t y-you curious?” he asks, his words slurring together.

 

Caduceus looks up from what he’s doing and cocks his head to the side. “About?”

“Me.”

 

“Ah.” Caduceus seems to think about the concept for a moment. “That’s a bit broad of a question, don’t you think?”

 

“I - a bit. Ja.” Caleb swallows; his mouth is dry and tastes like sick. It’s as if Caduceus has read his mind, because suddenly he’s over to pour a cup of water. He helps Caleb sit up, and holds the cup out for him to take. He holds it with both hands to make sure he doesn’t spill - and makes sure to take small sips. The last thing he wants is to throw up again.

 

“D-don’t w-want to know what I did t-to get this?” he asks, gesturing down towards the patched brand on his thigh.

 

Caduceus rubs his chin. “I feel it’s none of my business to ask.”

 

“But I’m - ” Staying in your house, taking up your bed, puking on your carpet. Caleb feels that it’s his right by this point to know - like someone in this situation should feel entitled to answers. “I p-punched a guard in the dick,” he blurts.

 

Caduceus blinks. “Oh, I see.”

 

Caleb looks into the cup in his hands and swirls the water around. The guard had just kicked the little goblin girl for not getting up fast enough. “He w-was being a dick so - ”

 

“You punched his,” Caduceus finishes with a slight quirk of his lip.

 

Caleb nods, a tight smile spreading over his face. “Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3 Big love thanks for reading!
> 
> Nothing but love and respect for MY beta reader army-of-bee-assassins! Thank you so much for editing my work <333
> 
> Find them @ army-of-bee-assassins on tumblr!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nightmares can be quite tricky little things,” Caduceus says thoughtfully. “Especially when they are based on true hardship, and not just false experiences our minds create.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see<3 
> 
> ID LIKE to announce that I now officially have a beta reader @army-of-bee-assassins on tumblr! They are such a dear to work with and have edited every chapter of this fic so I'd def recommend going back and reading it!!!!
> 
> For a while I didn't think I needed a beta reader because I'm just writing this in my free time as a de-stresser but I realized that the easier my fic is to read the more people will enjoy it! and i'm so glad I did once again @army-of-bee-assassins has been so lovely<3 thank you dude for reaching out!
> 
> Apologies for the long wait but LIFE WAS kicking me right in the butt. hopefully 6 will come out much faster <3
> 
> I hope you all enjoy chapter 5!!

Caleb lays as still as possible on the bed as Caduceus sorts through some potions and salves somewhere in the other room. He keeps almost nodding off, his eyelids drooping closed only for him to jerk back awake again. He absolutely doesn’t want a repeat of what had just happened, and it’s just so rare for him to sleep without having any nightmares. Being sick obviously elevated their frequency and severity.

Being sick and injured with an infection...well, he quickly learned how that’s its own monster. 

Caleb jerks awake again for what seems like the tenth time in the last few minutes when he feels the end of the bed sink with the weight of another person. 

He tenses under the thin sheet, shoulders hitching up in an attempt to get some kind of protection. 

Okay, so now, his mind supplies, despite everything. Now is the time the firbolg rips the rug out from under him, reveals himself, does something horrible to Caleb now that he isn’t as close to death, isn’t so sick that he’s unconscious of his surroundings, just lucid enough that he’ll feel whatever awful thing in store for him. 

“Nightmares can be quite tricky little things,” Caduceus says thoughtfully. “Especially when they are based on true hardship, and not just false experiences our minds create.”

Caleb keeps his eyes carefully trained on the wall in front of him, but he can feel himself shaking. He grips the edge of the pillow harder, cursing himself inside. “A-am I that easy to read?” he whispers.

Caduceus hums lowly. “You talk a lot in your sleep. Always the same things.” Caleb’s mind reels, trying to think back and remember what he’d said. “And,” the man continues, “no one ends up in your state without suffering a horrible deal.”

The human lets out a shaky breath. His throat burns.

“Are you afraid to sleep?” Caduceus asks.

Caleb feels like a stupid child, but he nods yes, not trusting his voice.

Because yes, that’s truly what it is. He’s scared. Scared of the dreams that haunt him every fucking night, scared of waking up back in that cell or the asylum or standing in front of the flames he’d lit with his own accursed hands. He already knows what hell will look like when he gets there, because he sees it every night. 

“Is there…something I can do to help?”

Caleb thinks back to the cell and the little goblin girl he’d met. She’d always shake him awake. At first he’d thought she was doing so to warn him of something, but after a while she’d explained it was because he’d begin thrashing about, screaming, moaning, and wake her up as well. She’d told him she didn’t want to draw attention to them as they plotted a way out, but he knew she’d most likely been annoyed by it. And he didn’t blame her a single bit. 

“T-there may be one thing,” he says, feeling quite stupid but pushing onwards. If there was any way to keep himself from seeing the fires again and again, he’d absolutely rather embarrass himself. “If y-you can - wake me up before I begin to - b-before they get too bad.”

Caduceus nods kindly. “Of course, makes sense enough. How will I know when they are becoming unbearable?”

Caleb snorts unintentionally, tensing up a bit when he realizes how rude that was and glancing back at the firbolg, who seems completely unfazed by it. 

He clears his throat.

“O-once I begin thrashing. I assume I d-do that as blankets never seem to stay on,” he explains sheepishly. 

Caduceus smiles. “I’ll do my best,” he assures. There’s a strange air of tension before he shifts. His hand hovers for just a moment over Caleb’s back - and then drops back to his lap. “If I see that you are in any pain I will wake you immediately. Would it be better if I simply speak to you or may I - ” he gestures uselessly. 

Caleb clenches his jaw, and thinks on it for a moment. “Ja, y-you can shake me if you need to, b-but be careful. I may lash out.”

Caduceus nods. “Of course.” For a moment his eyes seem to search for something. “Hm, would you feel more comfortable if I pulled up a chair? Or should I leave the room entirely?” 

 

Caleb lets the question sit for a moment. Someone asking his opinion, his consent for anything was a concept long lost on the man. He swallows, his throat dry suddenly. It would be better if the man could stop his nightmares early - and for that he’d need to actually be in the room. 

“S-Stay, I think t-that would be b-best.” 

Caduceus does.

***

Caduceus wonders how the man is going to be able to sleep while knowing he was watching over him. He was so jumpy already, so clearly distrustful that the firbolg was sure he’d prefer to be left alone.

But he falls asleep within minutes. His breath evening out and his chest rising and falling rhythmically would be indicator enough, but it’s the way that the man’s features relax that Caduceus can truly tell. 

Asleep is the only time Red looks even a little at peace. Usually there are creases across his brow and the edge of his mouth, as if he’s always straining to keep his expression level. It all smooths out when he’s asleep. 

Caduceus just watches, as the man lays on his back, his hands laid gingerly over his midsection, thin wrists in full view, reminding Caduceus that he still hasn’t managed to eat anything substantial. 

His hair has somehow gotten into his face again, so Caduceus reaches up and gently smooths the strands away. He’s delighted to feel that the stubborn fever has been reduced dramatically already. 

After a while, he retreats momentarily into the other room to grab himself a book, and he begins to pick up from the chapter he’d left off. 

***

 

He gets a few chapters in when he first notices the sound: a quiet whine that starts in the back of Red’s throat. Caduceus looks over to see the telling sheen of sweat beginning to form on the man’s brow. His face, with features once so relaxed, has grown taught - panicked, his eyes flicker beneath his eyelids. 

“N-no…” he murmurs, and Caduceus decides it’s time. 

He gently reaches out and shakes the man’s shoulder. “Red - ?” 

He barely makes contact when Red’s eyes open. There’s a moment where he’s just staring unnervingly at the ceiling and Caduceus thinks he’s still lost somewhere in his dreams. But then the man’s breath hitches and he shoots bolt upright with a little yelp, causing Caduceus to nearly fall from his chair. 

His back is straight as a pin as he scans his surroundings quickly. His blue eyes look absolutely wild flicking around the room like that, and his hair is hanging so much in his face that Caduceus wonders if he can see at all. Eventually those eyes land on Caduceus. 

Red tenses up at first when he sees that there’s another person in the room with him, but then after a second all that tension seems to leave him at once, and he slumps onto one of his elbows. His breathing is ragged and a little painful sounding as he slowly turns himself back onto his back and begins to rub his face with both hands. 

“I’m sorry, I should have woken you earlier,” Caduceus begins.

Red shakes his head, his hands dropping back to his stomach. “No - you - thank you, that w-worked.” He swallows some spit in his mouth and offers a weak smile. “Honestly, it was t-the best wake up I’ve had in a-a while.” 

He says it sincerely. 

The tone catches him off guard. He’d been thinking the last few incidents were out of the norm, but - if this was better than his usual... “How long is a while?” he asks, without truly considering his words. 

Red shrugs weakly, his eyes closing as he yawns. “Years, probably.” 

Years. 

***

Caduceus and Caleb repeat the process a few more times. Caleb falls asleep for a while, and Caduceus wakes him when things begin to go sour in his head. The third time he wakes up, he feels more rested than he’d felt in…since he could remember. It’s strange to have that kind of energy, the kind that makes him want to get up and stretch his legs.

Maybe he’d be brave enough to ask permission eventually, but for now he was content simply soaking in the foreign feeling. 

And something changes after that. 

Caleb isn’t sure if his last ounce of sanity finally left him, or the man taking care of him - wasn’t also intending to murder or sell him off to slavery. That he just wanted to help a wounded stranger.

But something in him changes. There’s this odd sense of warmth in his body - freedom, maybe - that feels so utterly light in his blood it makes his head spin. There’s still this edge - that’s always there in Caleb and he knows deep down that it will never truly go away but he feels - content, almost.

It may not be the right word. ‘Content’ may be too generous, but he feels like the man in the green robes isn’t going to stab him in his sleep, isn’t going to kick him out into the cold - at least not for now. Caleb can’t believe the circumstances he’s managed to find himself in.

He may even be able to fully relax, if it wasn’t so terribly wrong. 

He doesn’t deserve to be treated with kindness and he can feel all the people he’d taken so much from spitting down at him. Sending curses to every inch of his body and mind.

Caduceus asks if he’d like to get one more doze in, but he declines. 

He can’t bring himself to sleep anymore. Everything already feels too much like a dream. 

***

 

Caleb stares wearily at the little concoction in his hands. It’s in a small purple vial with a rounded bottom, and it smells - to put it bluntly - like Beelzebub’s ass. 

He sends Caduceus a sheepish look as he brings the stuff to his mouth. 

It had only taken the firbolg half an hour to finally convince the human to drink it. It’s some kind of elixir to help his stomach - strengthen it enough to keep actual food down, because apparently (and by ‘apparently’ he means very obviously) Caleb is malnourished. 

He downs it all in one swig - and Caduceus does a short little gasp next to him before he can realize it’s not the correct way to go about things. 

It tastes at least five times worse than it smells, and goes down in a coagulated blob that Caleb nearly chokes on - just barely managing to get it past his throat. He coughs roughly, sucking in deep puffs of air as Caduceus rubs his back. 

“That - was gross,” he says eloquently, before burping into the palm of his hand with a groan. 

Caduceus smiles wearily. “Yes. Do humans always take medicine like that? I should have warned you.” 

Caleb shakes his head back and forth without looking up and him. “It’s - eugh - fine,” he manages, recollecting himself and swallowing all the saliva in his mouth. “W-why do things that are good for you always t-taste so b-bad?” 

The comment is met with a soft laugh and a gentle back rub before the vial gets pulled away. 

Caduceus swirls the small remaining liquid around absentmindedly. “It must be the needed balance; nothing is perfect.” 

Caduceus walks away, taking the empty vial, and Caleb can’t help but feel himself a little uneased by the comment. 

** 

The potion works quickly, almost too quickly, because Caleb can actually feel his hunger twisting deep in his stomach and it - hurts. 

The smell of fresh vegetables roasting slowly over the flames of Caduceus’ fireplace doesn’t help either.

He’d grown so used to this dull ache in his gut that anything more than that was almost overwhelming. He swallows saliva forming in his mouth and grimaces, his hands held over his stomach. It seriously feels like he hasn't had a bite to eat in fucking years. And in a hazy moment, he wonders if that were actually true.

He fights the urge to ask how much longer it will be, because the fact he’s being fed at all is something he doesn’t deserve. Caduceus was too good - just too kind and too amazing. And Caleb was going to get to eat soup that wasn’t days old or cold to the tasting, and he just couldn’t believe anything was real right now through the cloud of lightheaded hunger and the near intoxicating smell of the stew.

Caduceus looks over his shoulder. He does that a lot, just glance at the human. And when he sees his face, mouth pursed and eyes wide, he lets out a little chuckle. 

“Oh dear, the potion worked I’m gathering?” he asks, and Caleb feels his face go red in shame. He rubs at his mouth anxiously and Caduceus seems to notice the shift, because his expression becomes much softer. “The stew won’t be ready for a while longer; the vegetables need time to marinate,” he explains.

And in that moment he may as well have told Caleb his puppy had gone off to live at his uncle's farm. 

Caduceus continues quickly. “I was expecting you to tell me when it began working so I could give you a snack in the meantime,” he assures, leaving the stew to cook as he rummages through a basket he’d placed on the table earlier. 

Caleb had assumed they were more ingredients for the stew, but Caduceus takes out a golden loaf of bread and offers it over to him. Caleb's eyes flicker between it and the man’s eyes until Caduceus gestures with a little more intent. “For you.” 

That’s all he needs to hear. Caleb shakily takes the loaf from the man, who smiles softly at him, and then without any more hesitation he takes a bite. 

It takes. Everything he has. Not to moan like an idiot in love into that piece of baguette because holy fuck. Caleb can’t remember tasting anything better in his entire life. He takes another bite, this time big enough to fill most of his mouth, and practically inhales it. 

“Whoa there - I know you must be starving, Mr. Red, but please try and go easy.” 

It’s hard, but that side of Caleb who always follows directions hears it and he tries his best to follow the advice. 

“Good,” Caduceus says, satisfied. “That should tide you over for the time being.” He makes his way back towards the cooking pot. “This stew is worth the wait, I assure you.”

Caleb swallows the piece of bread in his mouth and takes a shaky breath. “T-thank you, Caduceus. Just - thank you. It’s very good.” 

Caduceus smiles warmly. 

**

 

“Caleb,” the human says, as he fiddles with the sheets in his hand. 

Caduceus cocks his head in the man’s direction, and then feels a small smile spreading across his cheeks as the realization hits him.

“Your name?” he asks, and the human nods.

“Yes,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment too long to be a blink. “My name.” It’s as if he’s learning it from the first time himself, or at the very least accepting it. 

Caduceus gathers the rest of the plates in his arms. “Well Caleb, it’s a lovely name.” And he heads through the beaded curtain, sparing a glance back just long enough to notice the soft smile across Caleb’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but love and respect for MY beta reader @army-of-bee-assassins (ON TUMBLR)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!! The next 2 chapters are gonna have fluff in them to balance the angst no worries haha.  
> *IF YOU LIKE MY STORY PLS LEAVE A COMMENT!!! They're such a huge motivator for me and I love reading your thoughts (even if they're critical ;u;)*


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